


Communication Breakdown

by Ivy_Brooks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Crying Castiel, Cute, Dean Loves Castiel, Dean Needs A Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Dean Winchester, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining Dean, SPN Kink Meme, Slut Castiel, Slut Shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-10 11:08:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2022882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivy_Brooks/pseuds/Ivy_Brooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas have been friends since high school – they bonded over their tastes in decent bands and general dislike of people. Now they live together in a flat in Lawrence – and Cas is just now realising that he has a sexual appetite bigger than Kansas itself.<br/>The amount of guys he brings home may or may not be making Dean jealous.<br/>(Written for a prompt on the spn kink meme: Dean and Cas are roommates. Cas has a lot of sex, forever bringing back big burly guys. Dean gets jealous very easily, and a massive argument ensues around this**.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> >   
>  Rating: Mature  
> Pairing: Dean/Cas  
> Word Count: 6237  
> Notes: **Full prompt at the bottom.  
> 

Dean glanced at the door. Then back at the plates in front him. Then at the door again.

Pining? Who said he was _pining_?

He was just... patiently waiting. For Cas to get home. Because Cas was his friend and it was three in the morning and the short little bastard had probably forgotten to eat properly like he always did. If Dean didn't remind him to eat once in a while, Cas wouldn't. Simple as. And Dean didn't want his friend to starve, nope.

...Which was why he was sat on his couch at three am, with a plate stacked with sandwiches sat in front of him. Because he was scared that Cas hadn't eaten.

Mhm. That was sound reasoning right there.

His heart totally didn't leap or anything when the front door clicked. His legs also totally didn't propel him from the crouch in order to look expectantly at the door either, no sirree.

That shock of black hair swam into view, and Dean felt himself grin.

"Hey C-"

"Shhh, sh!" Cas was giggling, oblivious to Dean's greeting. And he didn't sound like he was on his own, "My roommate might hear -"

Cas stumbled forwards, looked up. His eyes clashed with Dean's.

"...us." Cas finished. Dean felt his smile slide off his face. There was a guy stood behind Cas, an arm wrapped possessively around Cas' shoulders - he was built like a tank, with big bulging muscles, and he had a decent three inches on Dean. He looked very square and boring, with dark hair and a symmetrical face, big square shoulders and probably a big, square personality, Dean thought bitterly.

Dean saw how Cas' eyes flitted to the coffee table, where the makeshift-3am-meal was waiting, and it occurred to Dean that he must look ridiculous. Stood in the middle of their apartment with a meal ready, waiting for Cas to get home like a overprotective boyfriend.

"Uhm...." Dean cleared his throat," Don't mind me - I'll just, uh, go. I guess."

Before either of the other two men could even have a chance to say anything, Dean had grabbed his coat and shuffled passed them and walked out the door, oblivious to the way Cas tried to grab his hand on his way out.

He may have forgotten his shoes, but he really didn't care right now. He was trying to push down the ache that was spreading through his chest.

He didn't care. Not really.

\---

When Dean graduated high school, Cas had given him a present.

It wasn't anything special. Just one of those wooden bead bracelets that you got on peer stalls. It had hand crafted charms all the way around it - little angel wings, an anti-possession symbol (because Dean had gone through a stage of supernatural paranoia, which Cas had never let him live down), some decorative feathers. Nothing much.

But Cas had _made_ it - he'd sat for hours with a tiny craft knife, chipping out the little beads and designs. Hence why he was a jewellery designer today - or, at least, an apprentice to one.

Point is - Cas had made him a bracelet for a graduation gift, and Dean hadn't ever stopped wearing the thing.

So on the nights Cas brought home a new, trendier guy, he'd take the bracelet off and hold it for a little while. The beads digging into his palm reminded him of the effort Cas had put into making it. Because he knew the little bracelet meant that Cas had cared enough to spend a hell of a lot of his free time making Dean a gift. It proved that Cas cared about him; cared about him more than the guys he was screwing.

That thought made him feel better. For a while.

\---

"Last night was _awesome_ ,"

Dean let a tight grin slip across his face, nodding along as Cas sang praise about the nth guy to have sauntered into their apartment last night. They were sat across from each other at their breakfast island, chowing down on burnt toast and dressed in baggy sweats. Dean tried to ignore how windswept Cas' hair looked. 

"Really? Better than Randall?"

"Randy," Cas corrected, "Randall was the guy _last_ week, Dean."

"Oh _sorry_ ," Dean joked, "I'll try and keep up with your sexual escapades a little better in the future."

They laughed. Dean's grin didn't reach his eyes.

"But yes, Jacob was _much_ better than Randy," Cas got this faraway look in his eyes, talking through his next mouthful of toast, "He did this thing with his mouth that -"

"Whoa, whoa," Dean held up his hands, leaning back from the table, "Spare the gory details, jeez. Don't wanna barf up my breakfast."

Cas rolled his eyes, "Don't knock it 'til you've tried, my dear straight friend."

There it was again - 'my dear straight friend'. Cas had adopted the phrase a while back, and every time he used it, Dean got the distinct feeling that Cas was poking fun at him somehow. But Cas had a lot of weird habits (like straightening out every remote control on the coffee table when Dean wasn't looking, who the hell does _that_?) so Dean just ignored it and carried on.

"So, got any new conquests planned for tonight?" He asked, casually, propping an elbow on the counter. Cas' face lit up.

"Yep - a _recommendation_."

Dean raised his eyebrows, "Yeah? Who recommended him?"

"A friend," Cas shrugged. He had a lot of 'friends' nowadays. "He's a _great_ lay apparently. And I'm horny as fuck, so it should work."

"You're always horny as fuck, Cas."

"Your point?"

"Maybe you should stop being so horny and quit with this constant chain of guys," is what Dean wanted to say, but what came out was, "Touche. Go get laid then, you horny bastard."

Cas beamed at him. Dean tried to put the same enthusiasm on his face too, but he couldn't muster it up. So he just looked down at his toast instead.

At least Cas was happy.

\---

That night, Dean awoke to the loud sounds of Cas getting fucked in the room across the hallway.

He turned onto his side and put a pillow over his head, barely managing to stand the sharp stab of pain he felt in his gut. 

\---

Dean was Cas' alarm clock. Had been since college. The guy couldn't work a phone alarm to save his life, and the first (and only) alarm clock Dean had bought him had 'mysteriously' been smashed to pieces the next day.

He didn't mind though. Waking Cas up had always amused him - the way Cas protested and pushed was sort of hilarious. And it wasn’t like it was a chore - Dean always got up at the crack of dawn to go for a run around the block anyways. By the time he'd come back home, showered and dressed, it was seven am. So naturally, he'd wake Cas up (the guy worked a day job at the local library for some extra cash. The jeweller's hadn't employed him full-time yet, but they were getting there.) It was the way they worked, and that was perfectly okay with Dean.

One morning, however, he walked into Cas' room, only to find Cas sound asleep on the chest of a complete stranger.

Dean's heart sank. He didn't understand why. 

It was another one of those nameless, muscled guys - Cas looked extraordinarily small, bundled up against all that bulging, tanned skin. The guy was snoring loudly. He looked like the kind of person who plucked his eyebrows a lot. Undoubtedly Cas would be telling Dean about the 'experience' that afternoon when they both got back from work.

He didn't let his eyes linger on the guy's arms, wrapped snugly around Cas' back and holding him close. Nor did he let himself think of what it would be like to be in plucky-eyebrow-guy's position. Instead, he backed out of the room, and quietly shut the door.

If he made a loud racket in the kitchen with various utensils, that was his problem. If that racket happened to wake the happy couple up then, well, that was just a pure coincidence.

\---

"If Marty learnt the song from Chuck Berry, and Chuck Berry learnt the song from Marty, then who actually made the song?"

Dean rolled his eyes, "Just shut up and enjoy the movie, Cas."

He could feel Cas smile against his leg - like he knew he'd just thrown Dean for a loop. He'd never considered the paradoxical implications of Back To The Future (never really wanted to, to be honest) but apparently Cas had. Bastard. He just wanted to confuse Dean. Lord knew it was easy enough.

This was how most afternoons were spent in their apartment - watching an old movie, sometimes a western (Cas hated westerns with a passion, but it was Dean's DVD player, so he had movie privileges) with Cas' head in his lap, and Dean's hand on the shorter man's shoulder. It was nice. Comfortable. Anybody looking at them like this would say they were a couple - but Dean knew better. Cas was about as interested in him as he was in the lamps mounted on the wall. 

Didn't mean Dean couldn't secretly enjoy the closeness though.

Dean had known Cas for a long while now. They'd met in high school, bonded over decent bands and mutual dislike of generally everybody else, and had stuck together like glue ever since. After residing in their college dorm for a few years, they sort of couldn't see a life where they didn't live together anymore. So they'd found a nice little apartment in Lawrence where the rent was cheap and there was a takeout on every block. Nice and easy.

Then of course, Cas had gone and discovered his sexual appetite. Which, of course, was bigger than the state of Kansas itself. The first time he'd bought a guy home - a very big, very scary looking, very _male_ guy -  Dean had nearly had a heart attack. There was a hushed 'You're _gay_?' conversation in the kitchen, followed by Cas kicking him out of the apartment so him and this _man_ could have some alone time.

Looking back, it was kind of hilarious how Dean hadn't known about his friend's gayness. The poster of Orlando Bloom in Cas' bedroom should've been a dead giveaway. Dean had just assumed it was a kind of 'ironic' thing or whatever. At twenty two, Cas still hadn't quite grown out of his little 'hipster' phase. The big-rimmed glasses he wore to read were enough proof of that.

So yeah, this year had been eventful. Cas was gay (a gay slut, really) with a love for old cheesy movies and a great talent for making Dean feel like the most inadequate human being to ever grace the earth.

It wasn't Cas' fault, not really - Dean was straight. He liked women. He liked their soft curves and the way they clutched him tight and moaned on the mattress. Their fragility. He'd never taken a second glance at another man. He was the kind of straight guy who'd slap his brother on the ass and call him 'Samantha' for fun. He was one-hundred percent straight.

But when he saw all these guys, he couldn't help but feel... _disappointed_. Inadequate. Cas never once gave him a second glance, and that was like losing a big gay race.

Which of course, didn't matter. Because Dean was straight.

He looked down at Cas in his lap, watched the way his eyelashes fluttered every time he blinked, felt the way his shoulder shifted when he breathed, and suddenly, it _hurt_. It hurt so much to be so close to someone - to _Cas_ \- but not be able to pull him into a tighter embrace. To not be able to kiss him whenever he wanted, or to just lie in each other's arms until they fell asleep.

It hurt. Like a bitch.

And Dean was quickly realising that he probably wasn't as straight as he initially thought he was.

\---

The next week passed in a string of yet another batch of guys - two of which were so burly Dean was surprised they could even fit through the doorway. Every night, Dean had awoken to grunts and groans of pleasure. Out of habit, he'd taken his bracelet off and held it tight in his fist as he lay in bed. It was stupid, and sentimental, and downright _girly_ \- but it helped him ignore the creak of bed springs and the knowledge that Cas sounded like he was fucking _enjoying_ himself.

 _Without you,_ some sadistic part of his brain whispered.

The sleepless nights were taking their toll. Come Tuesday evening, Cas was curled up next to him, leaning into Dean's side as they watched reruns of Texas Ranger. As usual, Chuck Norris was kicking ass, but Dean wasn't as attentive as he usually was. He was leaning heavily on his elbow, and his eyes were drifting shut. It was only seven pm.

"Dean, are you alright?"

"Mmmm." He mumbled in absently, his head starting to slip downwards. He felt a tap on his shoulder.

"How are you tired already?" Cas asked, "It's barely gone seven."

"You're loud when you have sex," Dean said by way of answer. He heard Cas' teeth click as he snapped his jaw shut.

"...Oh." Cas shifted, sitting a little straighter, "I wasn't aware..."

Dean forced his eyes open, his head swinging around to face Cas, not expecting the other man to be so close. There was barely an inch between them. He licked his lips. 

"No worries," he breathed, feeling his heart stutter when Cas leant a little closer, almost eagerly. He could feel the other man's every breath on his lips. The air froze. "It's good that you... uh... enjoy yourself, I guess."

Cas smiled in that _way_ of his, and if Dean shifted he could press their lips together. _If_.

"That's just sex though." Cas said idly, glancing down at his hand. His fingertips were just short of brushing Dean's thigh, "Watching Texas Ranger with you is far more enjoyable, in my opinion."

That was when Dean stood up. Abruptly.

"I'm gonna... call it a night," he said lamely. He couldn't deal with the way Cas was looking at him because he _knew_ he was imagining it - the longing in those big blue eyes, "I gotta get down to the workshop early tomorrow. We're interviewing new interns and... stuff."

That sentence was so pathetic it hurt. Cas looked at him - a long, piercing look - before he nodded.

"Texas Ranger can wait until tomorrow," he said, "Good night Dean."

Dean nodded hurriedly, "G’night."

 _Tomorrow_ , he though as he walked down the hall.

Tomorrow _._

\---

Dean was getting antsy. It was as if there was an itch underneath his skin that he couldn't quite scratch. And the itch got worse with every guy that came into the apartment. Every guy that put their dick in his best friend.

'Antsy' was going to 'angry' pretty quick. And nothing Dean did could stop the feeling swirling dark in the pit of his stomach.

Because every new guy that visited, Dean would think to himself 'there goes another guy that isn't me'. And for a 'straight' guy, that was a pretty gay thought.

So add 'big gay panic' on top of 'angry and jealous' and you get a very unlikable Dean.

That evening, 'angry, jealous and gay panicking' Dean was cooking dinner. Maybe he was putting a little more force into handling the pots and pans as he stomped around the kitchen than was necessarily needed, and maybe he turned the hob up too high and burnt the spaghetti out of spite - whatever he did, Cas noticed.

"Dean?" He asked, sitting down at the kitchen island.

"What?" Dean snapped, nearly dropping the frying pan as he spun around. Cas cocked his head at him, standing from the stool and sliding into Dean's personal bubble. Dean tried to ignore the close proximity, tried to ignore the way he melted a little at the concerned look on Cas' face, tried to ignore the tiny, irrational voice in his head that was screaming, 'Kiss him! Jesus Christ, he's right _there_ , justfucking _kiss him_!'

Winchesters were great at ignoring their inner thoughts though, so Dean managed quite nicely in his ignorance.

"Tell me what's wrong," Cas said softly, running his palm down Dean's bicep and God, it _hurt_ \- it hurt so damn much because Cas would never _willingly_ give him that touch. That little stroke of skin and Dean flinched away before he could stop himself. If he kept pushing Cas away, it'd be easier to deal with the constant rejection. That's what he told himself, anyway.

"Nothing," he gruffed in that sharp way. The way that clearly said 'everything's wrong', before he turned back to the cooker and started to clean up the mess around the hob. He'd spilled bits of burnt spaghetti, and now they were stuck fucking everywhere, "'M fine Cas. Just leave me alone."

A pregnant pause followed, and he felt Cas move behind him. Another one of those touches - slow, careful - landed between his shoulder blades.

"Dean -"

"I said leave me alone!" Dean snapped - he fucking _snapped_ because he couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed the stupid fucking frying pan and threw it to the stupid fucking ground, flinching at the stupid fucking clang it made. He knew that he was being an asshole. God he _knew_ , but he just couldn't _stop_ and it felt better if he lashed out in angry bursts rather than bottling up. It felt _good_.

Cas stepped back in shock. Dean saw his chance. He bolted for the door, grabbing his shoes and leather jacket, before storming out, ignoring the way Cas calls out after him.

If he ignored it, he wouldn't be able to kid himself that Cas actually cared.

\---

When Dean came back an hour later, he was expecting an angry Cas to greet him. What he wasn't expecting was the very unmistakeable sounds of Cas having loud sex in his bedroom.

Cas cared so damn little that he couldn't even be bothered to be angry at Dean. It was a ridiculous, petty thought, because that's _exactly_ what Dean had wanted; for Cas to _not_ care.

But Jesus Christ, he could _hear_ them. Hear the bedsprings groaning loudly, Castiel's loud keens of pleasure. It was making Dean clench his jaw; making him grip his thigh and grind his teeth because he _couldn't take it anymore._

Cas didn't belong to anyone. Whatever Cas liked to do with his sex life was none of Dean's business - but goddammit, Dean couldn't help the constant itch of jealousy beneath his skin when he heard somebody giving it to his best friend. He felt like he'd been betrayed over and over - trampled on and forgotten like trash. Jesus he was a fucking _mess._

All of it was just... _wrong_. _Dean_ was the one who Cas went to talk to, it was _Dean's_ lap that he'd rest his head on when they were watching movies together, it was _Dean_ who cooked for the guy because he cared too dam much and wanted to make sure he ate right - nobody should have the privilege of making love to Castiel but _Dean_.

He ignored the fact that he'd used 'making love' instead of 'fucking' and shucked off his shoes.

Blood was pumping in his ears as he strode towards Cas' door. He didn't know what he was doing - no, fuck that, he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. The sadistic, self-centred part of him _loved_ what he was doing. He was gonna knock on that fucking door (the door he'd seen so many strange men flitter in and out of) and he was gonna get Cas out here and then... and then...well, it didn't matter what _then_ because he would've stopped Cas from fucking another dude, and that was all Dean could think about right now.

Before he could even try and stop himself, he'd knocked. Three times, loud and sharp.

The groans of pleasure stopped, as well as the creaking of the mattress, and the vindictive part of Dean roared in triumph. He didn't want to try and guess at how long he'd wanted to do that.

There was a shuffle, and a displeased grunt, and then the door swung open to reveal a strangely empty room. Cas stood before him in nothing but his dressing gown, hair ruffled (like somebody had ran their grubby hands through it a thousand times. Dean gritted his teeth) and his throat flushed, looking like he'd just be taken straight from the middle of a porno. A _good_ porno. He glared at Dean.

"Decided to come back after your hissy fit then," he snipped, and the clipped, half-joking tone was enough to draw to the surface all the anger and envy that had been brewing in the pit of Dean's stomach for the past four months.

"Stop it," he demanded, "I just want you to stop it. All these guys you sleep with - all these _strangers_ -"

"Dean, there isn't even anybody _in_ here," Cas hissed, clutching his robe with one hand whilst the other gestured wildly to the room - Dean ignored the foreign flush of embarrassment at walking in on his friend masturbating, "And even if there _was_ , you couldn't do anything about it. If I want to sleep with somebody, I'm going to. I don't _care_ if you don't like it, and if you've got a problem, then just _move out_."

That stung more than Dean liked to admit. He took a step back.

All he wanted to do was tell Cas all the reasons he wanted this to stop. Wanted to tell Cas that _he_ wants to be the one kissing him, wants to be the one loving him and holding him tight and fucking him hard. Wants to be the one he takes to bed every night.

Unfortunately, Dean was never great at feelings 'n shit, but he _was_ (and still is) extraordinarily good at miscommunication, so he says none of those things.

"Just because I can pull anybody I want, doesn't mean I'm going to let your blue-balls-parade loom over my head too," Cas sniped, and Dean - Dean fucking _lost_ it.

"I think I get it," he said suddenly quiet. Cas noticed the tone. His eyes widened. "The never-ending chain of guys. Why you get laid by a different person every damn day."

Dean leant in close, his brain screaming at him to stop. Stop because he knew that whatever was going to come out of his mouth next would be an awful, friendship-ruining thing. But it was like bile. All the built up feelings geared up towards Cas were pouring out of his mouth in one ruthless stream, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying it. He wanted to hurt Cas as much as Cas was hurting him, and letting his mouth run was the way to do it.

"It's 'cause nobody ever wants to stick around afterwards for you, Cas. No one likes a whore."

The change is like static. As soon as the words are said, Dean wishes he'd never said them. Never even _thought_ them because the _look_ \- God, the look on Cas' face tore him to pieces.

"Dean..." Cas choked, his bottom lip trembling as he took a step back. Dean reached forwards on impulse, an endless prayer of apology ready on his lips. _Cas I didn't mean it, Cas please don't look at me like_ that _, Cas please -_

The door slammed shut in Dean's face, and Dean's stomach twisted painfully when he heard a muffled sob behind the thin layer of chipboard.

He was so fucking stupid.

\---

Cas stayed in his room for hours. Dean didn't mind though. A few hours was all he needed to gather his stuff.

He'd gotten his bags ready, and he was currently staring at a blank piece of paper, pen in hand, and he was writing his heart out. Because dammit, he was probably never going to see Cas again, and that thought alone was like having every bone in his body broken repeatedly. So he was gonna get everything out and on paper while he had the chance 

The letter explained everything, and he could only hope it was good enough. Not good enough for forgiveness - but for Cas to understand that Dean hadn't meant a word of anything he said.

He re-read the letter one last time.

_Cas,_

_You don't have to forgive me for anything I said, okay? I'm a jerk, and you didn't deserve any of that. By the time you've read this, hopefully I'll be out of your hair. You don't have to suffer my 'hissy fits' anymore, so I hope that makes you happy._

_That's all I really want for you, Cas. I want you to be happy. You make sure you do that, okay? Do whatever it takes to make yourself happy. God knows I couldn't do it well enough, so maybe you can find somebody perfect to make you feel good._

_You're not a 'whore' - I can't believe I even said that shit to you. I was angry, and jealous, and stupid because dammit Cas, I love you._

He'd paused there. Contemplated whether or not to scratch that out. But hell, he was never gonna see Cas again. So he'd carried on writing.

_I've loved you for years. Yeah, weird right? You 'dear straight friend' is actually kinda gay, and also kind of in love with his best friend. Way to present my feelings, huh? Throwing pots and pans and getting angry over nothing. I guess I'm more terrible at expressing myself than I already thought._

_Point is, Cas - I'm a prick, and I say bad things, and I'm just a generally bad person. Just ‘cause you're my friend, doesn't mean you should have to put up with me. I've paid the next two months’ rent in advance, and there's some leftover paella in the fridge. Please don't forget to take care of yourself. Do that for me, okay? And if not for me, do it for the next person that drops into your life and cares about you as much as I do..._

_I'll miss you Cas. Really will. But this is better for you. I want you to be happy, and doing this is the only way I can see that happening._

_Love,_

_\- Dean._

Dean took one last look at that, then scribbled out 'love' and put the paper on the table. The pen dropped out of his fingers, and his eyes lingered on his hand. Then flitted to the wooden bracelet around his wrist. A sigh escaped his mouth. Two quick movements later, he'd unlatched it and dropped it atop the letter, along with his mobile. He didn't want Cas calling him. That'd just make things harder.

He left quietly, throwing his bag over his shoulder and letting his eyes linger on the apartment for a moment, before walking out. He posted his key back through the mail slot, pretending not to notice the way his eyes were watering, and proceeded to find the nearest crappy motel he could.

It only could've been his luck that there were no vacancies at the Glen Capri. After checking the next three motels, he gave in, and ended up spending the night in his Impala, parked out on a road in the middle of nowhere.

And if he sobbed here, at least nobody could hear him.

\---

He woke with a throbbing headache and a sharp rapping on his window. It was a cop, obviously.

"Sorry bucko, gotta get driving otherwise we're gonna have to take you in."

Dean grunted his protest - why the hell couldn't he sleep in his own damn car? - before sitting up and running a hand through his dishevelled hair. He glanced at the rearview mirror and Jesus, he looked like death warmed over. Pale skin, blood shot eyes, grey bags and dark patches around his eyes.

His heart twinged when he realised Cas might look the same.

He apologised (petulantly) to the cop, before driving off. He figured he could travel up to South Dakota, get a job in Bobby's garage. He'd been working as a mechanic in Lawrence for a couple years now, and Bobby was a family friend, so the transition wouldn't be too hard to make.

Except, Cas wasn't in South Dakota.

Cas was here in Lawrence, probably still sat in their crappy little apartment, reading Dean's letter before ripping it up and tossing it in the trash. Dean wouldn't blame him if he did.

It was odd - trying to imagine a life without Cas. No grumbled protests of being woken up on weekdays, no complaints when Dean started talking about his favourite Clint Eastwood movies. Nothing that had made Dean's life so normal up until now. Regulated.

He imagined this is what paraplegics felt like when they woke up in hospital to find both their legs missing.

For a long time, Dean drove. He could've easily been halfway to South Dakota by now, but he kept running circuits around Lawrence. Like some miracle would fall out of the sky if he stuck around long enough. Maybe it would.

To distract himself, he jammed in a Zep tape and turned it up. ['Babe I'm Gonna Leave You'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iP9xMobANJM) strummed to life, and Dean immediately slammed the thing off again. That was the one song Dean did _not_ want to hear right now.

He sighed, gave up his pointless circuit, and stopped by a nearby coffee shop. May as well get a latte or something. He needed the energy after the night he'd just had.

He ordered some big, complicated coffee in a huge cup, and took it with a tired smile, handing over the money. He was a little short, having paid the rent on his and Cas' – no, just Cas’ - flat for two months in advance, and - _Jesus_ , he couldn't stop fucking _thinking_ about it. Everything reminded him of Cas and it felt like he was burning up on the inside. It'd barely been twelve hours and Dean wanted to fucking _die_.

The car creaked as he got back in and shut the door. He would've driven off, if a bright curtain of ginger hair hadn't swung into view beside him.

"Charlie?" He croaked. Charlie tapped insistently on the window, her face stormy. Dean rolled it down.

 _"What the hell do you think you're doing_?"

Dean flinched, his headache growing at the screeching pitch of Charlie's voice.

"Morning to you too," he grouched. Charlie glared at him.

"You and Cas had a fight." She stated.

"News travels fast, apparently," Dean mumbled. Charlie slammed her hands on the car door, and Dean actually jumped.

"Don't go all jokester on me Dean Winchester," dear lord, Charlie could be _scary_ sometimes, "Cas is worried _sick_ , and you're out here buying _coffee_."

It still hurt to hear his name, so Dean ignored the comment entirely, "I need my energy, Charles. Driving up to South Dakota today - I'm gonna need to stay awake for a while."

Charlie looked like she'd just been smacked in the face.

" _Are you deaf?!_ " She hissed, leaning threateningly through the open window, "Cas is going out of his mind because he's terrified you've gone and done something stupid, and you're driving up to _South Dakota?!_ YOU INSENSITIVE ASSHOLE _._ "

People were started to stare at them from the sidewalk now. Dean held up his hands in surrender.

"It's for the best!" He snapped, "Cas can do a lot better without me around, so -"

"Oh don't give me the pity parade, Dean. Cas told me about the letter you wrote. It broke his friggin' heart."

Dean stopped at that. "What?"

" _It broke his friggin' heart!_ " Charlie repeated, "You two have been tiptoeing around each other for _years_ , and both of you were too chicken shit to do anything about it! Then you go and drop the 'I love you' bomb in a _letter_ , out of everything you could've done, and then you _leave_ afterwards - hell _yes_ , it broke his heart."

Dean's mind was reeling. Did this mean - did Charlie mean -?

"He loves you too, dumbass." Charlie said, softer now, as if reading Dean's mind, "So if you don't drive back to your apartment right now and fix your boyfriend, _I will break you in half_."

Dean didn't doubt that. He caught Charlie's gaze.

"Thanks," he said, "I needed that."

Charlie looked pleased with herself, "Go get 'em, Tiger. Preferably before Cas drowns himself in whisky and sorrow."

As he drove off, he definitely didn't miss the way Charlie called out "Run Forrest, run!" after him.

\---

It took two knocks.

 _Two knocks_.

Dean had barely finished the second one when Cas opened the door.

God, he looked _wrecked_. Like he hadn't slept in weeks; he was clutching Dean's letter in his hand, and Dean didn't get to finish his examination because Cas had thrown his arms around his neck and yanked him into a rib-cracking hug before he'd even so much as _blinked_.

"You idiot," he said, voice thick with tears, "You goddamn idiot. I love you - love you so much you fucking great big _idiot."_

Dean, for his part, could barely stand as he wrapped his arms around Cas' middle, burying his face into the shorter man's neck.

"Charlie told me. Helped me get my ass in gear," he admitted with a rough laugh, trying to ignore the way his eyes were stinging, "I'm so fucking sorry Cas. I didn't think you'd want to see me again. Not after -"

"Dean," Cas pulled away, and Dean's heart did a bunch of funny twirls when the shorter man's hands cupped his face, "Shut up."

Then they were kissing, and Dean nearly fell over. He actually careened sideways into the doorframe, but neither of them noticed because they were _kissing_. Cas was fucking kissing _him_. His brain had short-circuited because _Cas'_ lips were on _his_ lips and he couldn't breathe, couldn't -

"Wait," Cas gasped, pulling away, and Dean fucking _panicked_. He wrapped his arms tight around Cas' naval and pulled the shorter man so close it was hard for either of them to draw in vital oxygen.

"Dean - Dean I can't breathe," Cas croaked. Dean loosened his hold, cheeks aflame.

"'M sorry." He said lamely. And he meant it. Cas just shook his head fondly, carrying on.

"You left something behind when you disappeared," the shorter man said, before reaching into his jean pocket and producing Dean's bracelet, holding it before Dean's nose. Numb, Dean grabbed it.

"Thanks," he breathed. Cas looped his fingers around Dean's wrist, pulling his hand up between their chests.

"Take a look," Cas said, grabbing the end of the bracelet that Dean wasn't holding, pulling it to its full length. Dean ran his gaze along the beads, landing on a little charm that hadn't been there earlier.

It was tiny – barely the width of Dean’s thumb; a delicate little carving of the side of the Impala, complete with headlights and windows and door handles. The rims were sculpted perfectly, and Dean didn't understand how Cas could do something so intricate without making any mistakes whatsoever.

"I started it last week, but I didn't have the proper... _stimulation_ to finish it until yesterday," Cas said, bashful, "If you don't like it I can make a different one, if you want -"

"Don't be stupid," Dean said, slipping the bracelet around his wrist, clipping it in place. "It's perfect. I love it."

Cas positively _glowed_ , and Dean decided then and there that he was going to try and get that expression on Cas' face as often as possible from now on.

He ran a hand through Cas' hair, pulling him close again, leaving a kiss on his forehead and screwing his eyes shut, breathing him in. Breathing in that scent - like cut grass and something grounded and earthy and wholly _Cas_. Breathing in his very essence. He wanted to drown in Cas, drown in the feel of him, the taste of him. Now he was in his arms, Dean didn't want to let go.

"Never let me be a moron again, Cas," he said into Cas' hair, "Just punch me before I do something stupid."

Cas nodded against Dean's chest, "If Dean Winchester strays into doofus-land, I'll punch him. Duly noted."

Dean just laughed. It felt good.

\---

Life got a lot easier after that. Cas stopped seeing the seemingly endless supply of gay guys and stayed snuggled up with Dean most days. If they weren’t working, they were together, and Dean fell into this little niche easy as breathing. It was pretty much the same as before – just with added cuddling. And kissing. And hurried handjobs in the mornings before they went to work.

Dean loved it.

And may the Lord hear him, he wouldn’t change a damn thing.


	2. The Second Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Stories always have two sides. As do mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > Rating: Explicit
>> 
>> Pairing: Dean/Cas
>> 
>> Warnings/Tags: Miscommuniacation, Arguments, Slut-Shaming (sort of), slut!Cas, Crying, Hurt/Comfort, Masturbation, Fluff, Angst  
> Summary: Stories always have two sides. As do mistakes.
>> 
>> Word Count: 7904
>> 
>> Notes: As it was requested so much, here's 'Communication Breakdown', told from Cas' point of view. Hope you enjoy! ^_^

Tonight was Saturday. Otherwise known as party night, to Castiel.

He’d gone down to some club – Seventh Heaven? Something like that – intent on picking up a decent fuck for tonight. Five hours in, he’d finally found someone adequate; a dude named Jacob (Cas was pretty sure that was his name, anyway). He was tall, with a nice, firm body that Cas could enjoy all the perks of tonight

Cas had driven them back– he never had alcohol on his ‘special nights’. He didn’t wanna get roofied, or wake up in the morning with somebody he didn’t even remember. He liked having a lot of sex, but he did have standards, you know.

They made it up the stairs, and soon, Cas’ apartment door swam into view, and Cas could barely manage to find his keys with Jacob groping his ass.

Half-heartedly, he smacked Jacob’s hand away, fumbling with his key as he unlocked the door. Jacob laughed.

"Shhh, sh!" Cas scolded, stumbling through the doorway, "My roommate might hear -"

Cas tripped over the doormat - Jacob wrapped an arm around his shoulders, trying to stop him from falling. Cas' hand splayed on the wall, and he felt his grin falter when his eyes met with those familiar greens.

"...us." He finished lamely, watching as Dean's gaze flitted to Jacob's arm, then to the coffee table. Cas looked in the same direction, his stomach doing a funny little flip when he saw the massive pile of sandwiches waiting for him.

Dean had stayed up until three in the morning to make him _sandwiches_.

Cas very suddenly didn't want Jacob to be with him right now.

"Uhm...." Dean bounced awkwardly on the balls of his feet, "Don't mind me - I'll just, uh, go. I guess."

Cas watched with something that felt suspiciously like guilt as Dean grabbed his coat and bolted towards the door. Useless, Cas reached for Dean's hand, missing entirely, having to watch his best friend walk out the door with no shoes on in the middle of the night.

The door clicked shut, and Cas felt his stomach sink.

"...Was he your...?" Jacob trailed. Cas shook his head, eyes still glued to the door.

"No," he said faintly, "No he's not."

He tried to forget that fact through a night of mindless fucking.

\---

Cas was feeling embarrassed come the next morning. Reluctantly, he sat down at the breakfast island, trying to avoid eye contact with his roommate as a plate of freshly buttered toast was pushed in front of him.

God, he must’ve made Dean feel so _awkward_. Hell, if _Cas_ was the straight one, and his gay friend came home in the wee hours of the morning with a complete stranger, he’d be pretty embarrassed too.

“So…” he heard Dean murmur, “…How was he?”

Cas looked up, locking onto Dean’s open gaze, and he was tempted to mouth ‘Thank you’ because Dean was giving him an opening. A chance to skate over the awkwardness. God, he loved his roommate sometimes 

Immediately, Cas eased back into himself, grabbing a slice of toast and smiling easily.

“Oh, last night?” he took a bite of his toast, chewing thoughtfully, "Last night was _awesome_."

Dean raised his eyebrows, "Really? Better than Randall?"

"Randy," Cas corrected, "Randall was the guy _last_ week, Dean."

"Oh _sorry_ ," Dean joked. Cas felt himself grin, "I'll try and keep up with your sexual escapades a little better in the future."

"But yes” Cas continued, “Jacob was _much_ better than Randy," hell _yes_ he was. He’d licked him out for a solid twenty five minutes, "He did this thing with his mouth that -"

"Whoa, whoa," Dean held up his hands, leaning back from the table, "Spare the gory details, jeez. Don't wanna barf up my breakfast."

Cas rolled his eyes, "Don't knock it 'til you've tried, my dear straight friend."

Dean looked at him for a moment, running his eyes up and down Cas’ appearance, like he was a puzzle that needed to be solved. Cas shifted on his seat.

"So,” Dean said suddenly, “Got any new conquests planned for tonight?" He asked, propping an elbow on the counter. Cas beamed at him. Only Dean could talk about this sort of thing so easily.

"Yep,” he said, “A _recommendation_."

"Yeah? Who recommended him?"

"A friend," Cas shrugged He was starting to get a bit of a reputation in the small gay community of Lawrence. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing, "He's a _great_ lay apparently. And I'm horny as fuck, so it should work."

"You're always horny as fuck, Cas."

"Your point?"

Dean paused then. A string of thoughts flickered in his eyes, and Cas felt like he’d said something wrong. But then Dean carried on as usual.

"Touche. Go get laid then, you horny bastard."

Cas grinned at him. Dean’s lips twitched in an abortive smile, before he looked down at his toast. Inwardly, Cas shrugged. Dean was straight – even if Cas could talk to him about this kind of stuff, it was bound to make him uncomfortable. Unknowing, Cas carried on eating, oblivious to the pile of turmoil sat two feet away.

 

\---

 

Shortly after Cas had turned seventeen, his father passed. Car crash. He'd died almost instantly. Painlessly, according to the hospital. Cas was highly cynical of that.

Not exactly the greatest way to start off his senior year.

Cas had been devastated. After two full weeks of rage and aggressive behaviour, he'd fallen into a slump. He'd lost interest in everything - classes, people, sleeping, eating. He just hadn't cared anymore.

It took two weeks for the doctors to diagnose him with major depression. They'd given him therapy appointments along with a pretty bottle of pills to pop three times a day to stop him from trying to off himself if he was left alone for more than an hour.

Pills hadn't helped. They'd merely numbed him to the world. If anything, they'd made him care _less_.

But throughout it all, Dean had stayed with him. Stuck by his side throughout the entire ordeal. Talked to him like he wasn't a depressed, fragile teenager walking the line between suicide and disinterest in life. Dean had laughed with him when there wasn't anything funny to be laughed at, forced him to eat, visited despite Cas' protests. Forced him to survive.

Three long months had passed like this - of Dean's constant perseverance. And Cas had appreciated it. He really had. But he could see his condition taking its toll on Dean; he'd stolen the taller boy's grade reports from his bag on one of his visits whilst Dean had been in the bathroom. Dean had gone from a grade A student to scraping the bottom with Es and Fs. His grade point average had dropped from 3.6 to 2.1.

"Dean," he'd said afterwards, confronting the other boy head-on in his bedroom. Cas had just downed his third bout of pills for that day, "Why don't you just give up already?"

Dean turned where he sat on the floor. Slow.

"What?" He asked. Cas leant forwards on his bed, eyes clashing with Dean's.

"You're failing your classes. Because of me," he threw Dean's report to the floor. Yeah it was bad. He didn't care, "I'm _cursed_ with this illness Dean, there's no hope for me. I'm ruining your chances of having a decent career, I hardly ever talk, I'm irritable all the time - so why don't you just _give up_?"

And, like magic, Dean had said the most simple answer Cas had ever heard.

"Because it's you," he shrugged, before shuffling across the floor to put his hand on Cas' knee, "I'm sorry Cas, but grades don't mean much when one of my best friends is like this. I'd rather have you, cursed or not."

After that, Cas had smiled a lot more. The doctors had eased him off of the pills, and Cas had returned to his normal life again.

Ever since, Cas had clung to Dean like glue.

 

\---

 

Cas snuggled more firmly into Dean's thigh, enjoying the feel of his roommate's hand on his shoulder. He shuffled every so often, trying to tempt as many non-existent touches as he could. If they were there, he'd find them.

He only paid half of his attention to Marty McFly's rendition of Johnny B Goode started, freezing up when he felt Dean's thumb start rubbing absent-minded circles into his shoulder. He covered up his hitch of breath with a question.

"If Marty learnt the song from Chuck Berry, and Chuck Berry learnt the song from Marty, then who actually made the song?"

Dean's thumb didn't stop. Cas was pretty sure that the taller man didn't know he was doing it. "Just shut up and enjoy the movie, Cas."

Cas grinned against Dean's jean-clad thigh, not daring to move a muscle - he didn't want to throw off Dean's subconscious movement. It was a snatch at a caress - a pathetic one at that - but if he could close his eyes and pretend for a moment that Dean was doing it on purpose, then Cas was going to.

It'd become second nature to Cas by now. Searching out physical contact from his roommate. More and more often he'd find himself looking at Dean, sat close to Dean, resisting the urge to run his hand through that blonde bedhead and kissing the frowns off of those plump lips -

Shit.

He was falling for his very straight best friend.

 

\---

 

Cas was quite content when next Tuesday rolled around. He'd been fucked six ways from Sunday. Fucked by so many guys that he'd literally lost _count_ ; name a position in the Karma Sutra, he'd probably performed it that week. The Morning Star was a particular favourite of his. There was just _something_ about sitting down on a dick that appealed to him – ‘specially when there was a set of strong thighs beneath his own to hold him up.

While sex was great and everything, it was still nice to be able to take a break once in a while. A comfy couch and a good friend was always a nice way to sit back and relax.

Not to mention, it gave him a good excuse to cosy up to Dean as much as he could. It was bad of him, really - Dean was straight. Hadn't shown any interest in Cas whatsoever since they'd met, so stealing his personal space in order to fool himself into thinking they were cuddling was all kinds of inappropriate. Cas knew that. But that didn't mean he stopped himself. If Dean didn't protest, then hey, what was the _point_ in stopping? 

He burrowed into Dean's shoulder, as far as he think he could get away with, imagining the phantom feel of the other man's arm wrapped around him, thumbs rubbing little circles into his hip as they watched TV. Cas had long since stopped paying attention to what was actually on (Texas Ranger), too busy concentrating on the steady push and pull of Dean's breath, letting his eyes flutter shut and allowing himself the pleasure of listening to the constant thrum of Dean's heartbeat.

…Then of course, Dean started snoring, breaking the peace entirely. Cas sat up, glancing at the clock. It was five past seven. Way too early to be falling asleep. Tentative, he tapped Dean's shoulder.

"Dean, are you alright?"

The snoring stopped, and Dean groaned. "Mmmm."

Cas bit back a smile. He didn't often see a dopey, sleep-ridden Dean, considering the taller man usually woke him up, rather than the other way around. 

"How are you tired already?" He asked, amused, "It's barely gone seven."

Dean stopped leaning on his hand, head swinging around to look Cas straight in the eye. A little thrill travelled down Cas' spine. They were so _close_.

"You're loud when you have sex." Dean said abruptly. Cas felt himself go bright red.

"...Oh." He trailed, sitting a little straighter, nearly bumping their noses, "I wasn't aware..." 

"No worries," Dean said, his eyes meeting Cas', and Cas nearly died because he could've _sworn_ Dean was drifting closer. His heart felt like it was going to explode out of his ribs. "It's good that you... uh... enjoy yourself, I guess."

Cas smiled at the eloquent choice of words, repressing a laugh; his roommate wasn't the most well-spoken of people. Another endearing quality that Cas friggin' _mooned_ over.

"That's just sex though." Cas shrugged, his fingers twitching - he could reach out and touch Dean's thigh, if he wanted, "Watching Texas Ranger with you is far more enjoyable, in my opinion."

Dean's bottom lip twitched, as if he'd just been about to say something - but whatever it was got lost when he stood. Cas lost balance, hand flailing outwards to hold himself up. Dean looked down at him, his face flushed.

"I'm gonna... call it a night," he said, making the excuse sound even more like an excuse with the nervous way he said it, "I gotta get down to the workshop early tomorrow. We're interviewing new interns and... stuff."

Cas looked at him, hoping it didn't show on his face that he was disappointed. Jerkily, he nodded.

"Texas Ranger can wait until tomorrow," he said flatly, trying to fire a kind smile the other man's way, "Good night Dean."

Dean nodded hurriedly, "G’night."

Then he turned and practically bolted down the hallway. Cas swallowed, looking down at his knees.

_Dean's straight_ , he reminded himself, _He's never going to want you._

Cas didn't want to believe it, but he knew his brain was right. Dean wouldn't ever want him as anything more than a token gay friend.

 

\---

 

Wednesdays and Thursdays. Those were the days that Dean got back home earlier than Cas.

Usually Dean would be cooking something, maybe watching TV or organising the porn on his computer that he thought Cas didn’t know about.

What ever Dean _was_ doing, though, he was never _asleep_.

One afternoon, Cas walked in through the door, a greeting fresh on his lips until he walked into the living room and saw those big clunky feet sticking over the armrest of the couch.

He smiled to himself when he rounded the sofa. Dean’s lanky form was sprawled across the cushions, a hand dangling over the edge, fingers grazing the floor. His mouth was hanging open, and Cas was extremely tempted to snap a picture because prideful Mr. Winchester was _drooling_.

But Cas was a Saint, and just generally too nice to do that, so instead, he made a quiet trip to the linen closet, got a thin blanket and threw it over his roommate. Dean snorted in his sleep, callous hand coming up to grab the edge of the blanket and pull it over his shoulder. Cas bit his lip, hand hovering over Dean’s shoulder.

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

Aw hell. Dean wasn’t like this often. Why not?

Tentatively, he ran his hand loosely through Dean’s hair, fingers lingering amid the blonde spikes.

He wondered what it’d be like to be able to do that when Dean was awake.

Quickly, he bustled away to his bedroom, completely missing the way Dean shifted and mumbled “Cas…” under his breath.

 

\---

 

Cas was immersed in the second chapter of _Of Mice And Men_ when he heard a loud bang in the kitchen.

He jumped where he sat, book snapping shut. He glared in the general direction of the noise, sliding his glasses off of his nose. Sighing, he stood, hand lingering on the cover of his book. _Later_.

Their apartment was open plan - the kitchen and the living room were one in the same, so it didn't exactly take a genius to figure out that the noise was Dean throwing his weight around with pots and pans as he made dinner. Something was burning, judging by the odd smell filling Cas' nose. Dean's back was facing him, muscles tense beneath the worn fabric of his t-shirt. Alarm bells went off in Cas' head.

"...Dean?" He asked, sliding onto the stool beside the little counter they ate their breakfast at. The taller man spun around like he'd just been electrocuted.

"What?" He spat. Cas' brows creased, concern growing. He'd known Dean long enough to know that the taller man only got like this whenever something really awful was troubling him; all defensive and angry. Nearly tripping over himself, Cas stood, rounding the counter in record time, never once breaking eye contact.

"Tell me what's wrong," he said quietly - the gentle approach was the only way to do things with Dean. If Cas got angry and fought back, Dean fought back harder. Nothing ever got done, and they'd just end up going in frustrated circles. For added measure, he allowed himself the pleasure of running his palm down Dean's tense arm, under the guise of a comforting gesture.  

He practically balked when Dean shrugged him off.

"Nothing," the taller man defended, turning his attention back to the cooker, shoulders rigid. The closed-off posture naturally meant that the problem was to do with Cas himself, otherwise Dean would've spilled the beans by now, "'M fine Cas. Just leave me alone."

Cas nearly snorted, because Dean was so obviously _not fine_ that the denial was almost insulting. He let his hip brush the other man's, laying his hand between Dean's shoulder blades, determined to get to the root of the problem before it got any worse. "Dean -"

"I said leave me alone!"

Cas jolted when the frying pan hit the wooden floor, hands flying up to the sides of his head. Shocked, he stepped away, tripping on the floor as he backed off. It was with some measure of sadness that he realised that spiking sensation in his stomach was fear. He turned back to Dean, only to find the other man already halfway out the door.

"Dean!" He called, genuinely worried at this point. This problem was Big, with a capital B. "Dean - wait!"

The door shut. Cas was left standing in the hallway wondering what the hell he'd done wrong.

 

\---

 

Cas was mad. Fuming, actually.

He hadn't done a _single thing_ wrong. Nothing he'd done in the last _year_ could've been considered remotely bad, and yet somehow, Dean had still managed to find something to be angry at him for.

God, Dean just - he was just so _infuriating!_

Petulantly, he balled up a random piece of paper and threw it across his room. When it hit the wall, it didn't make him feel any better. He groaned, agitated, falling back on his bed and screwing his eyes shut. He'd retreated to his room after cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. From where Dean had thrown all of his toys out of the pram, so to speak.

That was another thing - that whole damn kitchen escapade kept replaying in his head; he kept searching for something that he'd missed. Something that Dean might've been trying to tell him without words - but either there _wasn't_ anything, or Cas' brain wasn't working. At all.

The only thing his brain kept doing was concocting different versions of the memory itself. And that was _anything_ but helpful.

_"I said leave me alone!"_

_Cas jolted when the frying pan hit the wooden floor, hands flying up to the sides of his head. Shocked, he stepped away, tripping on the floor as he backed off. It was with some measure of sadness that he realised that spiking sensation in his stomach was fear. He turned back to Dean, only to find the other man was heading to the door._

_"Dean!" He called out, bounding forwards to grab Dean's wrist - the taller man had no choice but to stop and face him, "Dean, what the hell?"_

_Dean's shoulders heaved with every ragged breath, his wrist shaking beneath Cas' iron grip. He glanced at Cas, glanced at the floor, and before Cas knew it, he'd been pinned to the wall, Dean's thigh shoved between his own, the taller man's tongue swiping his bottom lip, forearms caging his head._

_"Dean -" he gasped, shocked, his fingers flexing uselessly in mid-air, "Dean..."_

_He melted in Dean's grip, hands sliding up to run through the taller man's hair, winding his fingers tightly in the short blonde spikes. The growl he got in return was enough to send blood rushing south, and he groaned shamelessly into Dean's mouth, hips moving in lazy little circles against Dean's thigh._

_His breath hitched when he felt the hard line of Dean's cock against the inside of his thigh. Dean pulled away, his hand grabbing a fistful of Cas' hair and yanking his head backwards, baring the column of his throat. He craned his neck, latching onto the shorter man's pulse point, nipping with his teeth and sucking bruising marks into china-white skin and -_

Back on his bed, Cas groaned. He could feel his cock swelling against his thigh, could feel that tell tale pool of heat at the base of his spine. His hands were balled, a mixture of respect and pride preventing them from drifting lower - respect, because Dean was his friend, and jerking off to the thought of him was inappropriate; pride because he was _not_ going to let prissy-miss _Dean_ be the fuel to one of his sexual fantasies. Definitely not.

Five minutes later, his pants were off and he was on all fours, pumping his cock furiously between his legs. He was sweating like crazy, head pressed into his forearm as he drove his hips forwards as hard as he could.

Okay. So maybe angry sex fantasies led to angry jerk off sessions. It was only logical.

He hardly took note of the groans passing through his lips - he was too busy imagining the feel of Dean's harsh fingertips digging into his hips, too busy imagining filthy words being said to him as he got fucked hard into the mattress. A frustrated moan leapt out of his throat.

He needed extra stimulation. The edge was _there_ , he just couldn't reach it. Maybe if he got one of the dildos out of his bottom drawer -

_Thump thump thump_.

Cas' hand paused. He knew who was out there. Fuck, _Dean_ was out there. Dean would've _heard_ him. And. - Lord help him - the thought that Dean had just _heard_ all of those little whines of pleasure escaping his throat was enough to make Cas come all over the sheets like a horny teenager, biting his lip hard, trying to prevent himself from making any more noise.

Fuck. Fuck he was so _gone_.

Legs still shaky in the aftermath, he fell off of his bed in his haste to get to the door, grunting as his knees hit the floor. He grabbed his (now dirty) duvet and bundled it up, throwing it into the corner. Breathing hard, he bound over to the door, his hand on the handle. Then he realised he was still naked. He made a desperate bid for his dressing gown (Dean's dressing gown, in a past life) and opened the door.

Dean was there, as expected, arms folded, looking like his car had just gotten keyed. Cas tried the joking approach, rather than the comforting one. Maybe that'd get a rise.

"Decided to come back after your hissy fit then," he said, still a little breathless, leaning against the doorway.

He knew he'd said the wrong thing when Dean looked at him with those dangerous eyes. The change was visible - like a shadow, curling around Dean's very person. His shoulders tensed, and those plump lips pulled into a sneer that hurt to look at.

"Stop it," Dean snapped, and the look in his eyes was almost pleading, "I just want you to stop it. All these guys you sleep with - all these _strangers_ -"

Cas snorted his indignance, covering up the little pang that made his chest squeeze. Was Dean… _jealous_?

"Dean, there isn't even anybody _in_ here," what was Dean's problem? It wasn't like he _cared_. Besides, it was _his_ body, he could do whatever he wanted with it, "And even if there _was_ , you couldn't do anything about it. If I want to sleep with somebody, I'm going to. I don't _care_ if you don't like it, and if you've got a problem, then just _move out_."

The words leapt off of his tongue before he could stop them - God, he didn't want Dean to move out. That'd be like scooping out his lungs and trying to breathe without them; but _dammit,_ Dean pissed him off sometimes. So instead of apologising, like his rationality wanted him to, he just kept going, letting the anger that had been stewing in the pit of his stomach for the best part of the evening guide his way

"Look," he said, leaning forwards, catching Dean's eyes again - _hell yes, you should pay attention_ , "Just because I can pull anybody I want, doesn't mean I'm going to let your blue-balls-parade loom over _my_ head too."

Cas could see the metaphorical hackles raising. It was like watching a big cat preparing to leap. Dean cocked his head to the side, eyes running up and down Cas' appearance.

He looked... _disgusted_.

Cas took a step back.

"I think I get it," Dean said. He'd gone quiet in a deadly way - the way in which Cas imagined assassins spoke to their victims before they killed them. "The never-ending chain of guys. Why you get laid by a different person every damn day."

A pause. Cas' throat went dry. He'd stopped breathing. Dean leant forwards, getting into Cas' face. The movement felt horrible. _Vindictive._

"It's 'cause nobody ever wants to stick around afterwards for you, Cas. No one likes a whore."

It felt like a stake had just been hammered between his ribs.

Warm pins pricked the back of his eyes, and he felt his face beginning to crumple. An unbearable ache welled up in his stomach.

"Dean..." He murmured, eyes brimming - it was so pathetic, to cry in front of your best friend. But Cas couldn't stop it because - because if _that_ was what Dean thought of him, then they weren't exactly best friends, were they?

He'd slammed the door shut before anything else remotely hurtful could make its way out of Dean's mouth, leaning his back on the door and sliding to the ground, his sobs muffled as he buried his face in his knees.

Hopefully, things would get better in a couple of hours. Until then, Cas was content with crying his damn eyes out of their sockets.

 

\---

 

This was ridiculous. Sobbing his heart out on his bedroom floor. It was more than pathetic.

But he kept hearing Dean's voice - Dean's _hatred_ -filled voice - sneering in his head.

_"No one likes a whore, Cas."_

Was that all he was? A _whore_?

If his best friend had said it, it must be true. He was just an easy fuck for all the locals. Shit, maybe Dean _was_ right.

But why did it have to be _Dean_ of all people to point it out?

That was the question that kept bringing up tears. He wouldn’t have cared if it was some stranger. Wouldn’t have even taken a second glance if it had been someone else. But Dean? Dean… Dean _meant_ something. Dean was important. What he _thought_ was important, and if he thought Cas was a… _whore_ , than Cas _was_ a whore. Dean wouldn’t ever say something so hurtful unless he meant it, and if the anger in those green eyes had been anything to go by… he’d meant it. Fully.

After what felt like hours, he pushed himself off of his floor. He sniffled pathetically, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his gown. The bones in his knees clicked as he stood, and his side throbbed from where he'd been laid on it for the best part of three hours.

Shaky, he opened his door, tiptoeing out into the hallway.

Dean must be in his room. Or out. The apartment felt too quiet. The air was too still. Call it a sixth sense, but Cas had always been able to tell whether or not Dean was close by. The taller man had always carried a presence about him; he filled a room wherever he went. Made it brighter with big smiles and those snarky comments of his.

Defeated, Cas trudged forwards, falling onto the couch with a miserable sniffle. The cushions fucking _smelt_ like Dean - like motor oil and leather and that spicy Axe shampoo he always liked to use.

God, he even knew what _shampoo_ his roommate used. By _smell_. If that wasn’t proof that he’d fallen hard, he didn’t know what was.

His arm felt like lead as he reached for the TV remote. There was this half-assed notion in the back of his head that if he filled up the time with some mindless programming, it’d take his mind off of Dean for a while. Of course, that was impossible. Thinking about Dean was as second nature by now as breathing.

When his fingertips brushed something that wasn't a remote, he looked down.

A letter. There was a letter on the table.

Cas' heart skipped a beat.

He knew what a letter meant.

Letters were bad. Letters were things people wrote because they couldn’t be said out loud. Letters meant long, permanent goodbyes.

And on top of it was Dean's mobile. Next to his bracelet.

His _bracelet_.

Cas sat up, his throat feeling tight as he picked up the note. His hands were trembling.

He took a breath and flicked open the piece of paper, his breath catching when he saw Dean's untidy handwriting.

_Cas,_

_You don't have to forgive me for anything I said, okay? I'm a jerk, and you didn't deserve any of that. By the time you've read this, hopefully I'll be out of your hair -_

Cas' heart thumped in his ears, feeling the floor drop out beneath his feet. Dean was gone? As in, left for good?

No, no that couldn't be right. He surely must mean he would be taking a break for a while. Going out to get some air. Cas nodded to himself. That must be it.

_\- You don't have to suffer my 'hissy fits' anymore, so I hope that makes you happy._

Cas was starting to realise that Dean wasn't taking a break. Not by a long shot. This was real. Dean was gone.

Cas' eyes blurred as he read on. 

_That's all I really want for you, Cas. I want you to be happy. You make sure you do that, okay? Do whatever it takes to make yourself happy. God knows I couldn't do it well enough, so maybe you can find somebody perfect to make you feel good._

He let out a sniff of morose laughter. Of course, Dean would care about somebody else more than himself.

_You're not a 'whore' - I can't believe I even said that shit to you. I was angry, and jealous, and stupid because dammit Cas, I love you._

Cas' eyes stuck on those last three words. The world stopped spinning. The sun stopped shining. Pigs flew. He re-read them at least four times, before choking out a feeble whimper. Another set of tears began to track down his cheeks.

Damn it.

Why did Dean Winchester know the exact way to break his heart?

_I've loved you for years. Yeah, weird right? Your 'dear straight friend' is actually kinda gay, and also kind of in love with his best friend. Way to present my feelings, huh? Throwing pots and pans and getting angry over nothing. I guess I'm more terrible at expressing myself than I already thought._

_Point is, Cas - I'm a prick, and I say bad things, and I'm just a generally bad person. Just_ _‘_ _cause you're my friend, doesn't mean you should have to put up with me. I've paid the next two months_ _’_ _rent in advance, and there's some leftover paella in the fridge. Please don't forget to take care of yourself. Do that for me, okay? And if not for me, do it for the next person that drops into your life and cares about you as much as I do._

_I'll miss you Cas. Really will. But this is better for you. I want you to be happy, and doing this is the only way I can see that happening._

_\- Dean._

The words were starting smudge where Cas' tears had slipped off of his chin and onto the page. Fuck Dean Winchester. Fuck him and his _God-fucking-damn_ letter. Telling Cas what was 'best'. Bah. Dean Winchester's opinions on what was 'best' could go shove themselves because what was best for Cas was having his roommate by his side. What was best was having Dean with him for as long as they could stay together. What was best was Dean _being here._

He could feel his shoulders shaking, a sharp pain shooting through his chest on every inhale. It was physical. This pain was _physical._

Why would Dean think that _this_ was best? Cas didn't understand... He didn't...

Oh _Dean_.

The paper hit the floor. Cas couldn't look at it anymore.

Maybe if he'd acted sooner. Maybe if he'd shown Dean that he cared, then this wouldn't have happened. Maybe if he'd grabbed the idiot by the scruff of the neck and pulled him in for a kiss then he wouldn't have left.

Too many 'maybe's, not enough 'done's.

Through the haze, he tried to understand how it must've felt to be in Dean's position - to live in such a close proximity to somebody he loved. To see them having sex with all these nameless people - oh God, to _hear_ them - day in and day out. No wonder Dean hadn't slept; he must've felt so fucking _horrible_. Tired and depressed and _Jesus_ , Dean wasn’t _allowed_ to be _either_ of those things. Dean was _happy_ – Dean was a wonderful, beautiful human being with a heart of gold and eyes like hot whisky. He didn’t _deserve_ to be tired or depressed.

Barely managing to breathe, he made a grab for the bracelet, clutching it tightly. In some desperate movement, he gripped it hard, dying for something to hold onto. He pressed the wooden beads to his lips, the charms digging into his skin, tethering him painfully.

Numb, his eyes drifted to his roommate's mobile phone, and a flare of panic jarred deep in his stomach. It slice up his insides.

Dean had left his phone behind. That meant he didn't want anybody to contact him. Didn't want _Cas_ to contact him.

Oh fuck, what if he'd done something stupid? Cas'd never be able to deal with that. Never be able to deal with the guilt if his best friend had - had -

He bit back a sob, running a hand through his hair.

Phone calls needed to be made. Soon.

 

\---

 

"Whoa whoa Cas, slow _down_ \- I can't hear a word."

Cas took a few deep, calming breaths, blinking back another wave of tears, "He's gone. Charlie, he's _gone_ , and it's all my fault, and what if he's don't something stupid because of me? What if -"

"Dean's gone?" Charlie asked, cutting through Cas' panicky BS.

Cas nodded, before remembering he was on the phone, "Gone. We had a fight and he... he left. God, Charlie, I don't think he's coming back either."

That knowledge made Cas want to jump out of the nearest window.

"Oh _c'mon_ , Cas. You guys have fought before - besides, this is _Dean_ we're talking about here. He's the biggest drama queen _ever_ , you know that," but she was wrong, God she was so wrong. It hadn't ever been this bad and oh fuck, _he didn't know what to do._

"He left a _note_ , Charlie," he said, as if that verified everything. Charlie must've heard the quaver in his voice, because she fell utterly silent, "He said he was leaving. Said it was better for me if he - if he 'got out of my hair'."

There was a pause.

"...What did you guys even fight about.?" Charlie said, her voice dropping to a far more serious tone. Cas took a stuttering breath.

"Doesn't matter. What matters is he told me he loved me, and now he's gone and I don't know what to -"

"He _what?"_ Cas flinched at the pitch of Charlie's voice.

"He said in the letter. Said he... he loved me." Cas choked on the end of his sentence, looking down at the bracelet in his open palm - those words were so foreign when associated with Dean that it threw his brain for a loop trying to say them out loud, "And now he's gone. Charlie, I need your help. You have to try and find him before he leaves Lawrence."

Charlie was muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "...through a _letter_? That _bastard_..." but she stopped her (possibly psychotic) ramblings as soon as she heard the word 'help'.

"Okay Cas. Me and Gilda are gonna try and get a bunch people out, okay? We'll find him, don't worry honey."

The fact that Charlie pulled the 'h' word on him showed how serious this situation was. He bleated a pitiful "Thank you" through the phone's speaker, before hanging up, falling like a dead weight back onto the couch, eyeing the clock on the wall. It was nearly two in the morning, but he wouldn't be able to sleep. Not with this dead weight in his chest and the painful stinging in his eyes.

To think; Dean _leaving_ hurt so much. Who knew how much _leaving_ hurt _Dean_? He must've felt like he was in a pretty tight corner if he figured that this was the easiest way to resolve things. By breaking Cas' heart. Leaving it vulnerable like an open wound.

He felt another sob well up in his chest, but he pushed it down. Dean wouldn't cry. Dean hadn't cried since his mother died. He was tougher than nails - tougher than Cas. And if he was hurting more than Cas, he certainly wouldn't be crying about it. He'd be doing something productive. Something worthwhile.

The beads of Dean's bracelet seemed to dig harder into his palm. He looked down at the little charm. A string of hand-crafted beads, dotted with tiny trinkets. There was a reason behind each one. The anti-possession symbol made Cas smirk at the memory of Dean's past paranoia; the angel wings reminded him of the time Dean had dubbed Cas his 'guardian angel' because of the help he'd given him during finals; the feathers were jaybird feathers - the bird that had landed on Cas' windowsill the day he'd met Dean.

Okay, that last one was sappy as all hell. But Cas was a sentimental person. The day he met Dean (Thursday, September 9th, 1999. Yes he had the date memorised. Shut up.) was high up on the list of most important events in his life. If he hadn't included something to do with that date, then he honestly wouldn't have seen the point in making the bracelet in the first place.

He felt nauseous when he realised Dean may never wear it again.

The little ornaments glinted dully in his hand for a few minutes more, resting in his palm. Without Dean's wrist they looked sort of... lonely.

As if calling him from a different plane, he eyed the drawer in the TV unit, where his silver craft knife lay, still in the cloth box that it had been in the day it'd been bought. Probably still as sharp too; Cas liked to keep his things in mint condition.

In minutes, Cas had gathered the necessary items - a block of wood (which may or may not have been the handle from his bedside cupboard), his knife, and a blanket. He'd found a patch of wall to lean on beside the front door, Dean's letter acting as motivation in his lap as he set to work

He was gonna carve his damn heart out.

 

\---

 

His eyes were drifting shut come lunch time the next day. The only time he'd moved was to go to Dean's room at five am to turn off his roommate's radio alarm clock. It'd been playing [some mushy Elvis song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uqv5b0UjR4g) that had only made Cas' mood worse. Other than that, for the best part of nine hours, he'd been carving out the next charm to make its way onto Dean's bracelet, praying for a knock to sound on the door.

Any time now. Any time.

Charlie still hadn't called. Cas could only fathom that that meant Dean was gone. But he didn't let himself think about that. No, he did the opposite. He denied it with all his being; he believed that each extra little line he put onto Dean's charm would make it more likely for the man to come back. One extra chip, one extra chance that Dean would be on that doorstep in next to no time.

His tongue was making clicking noises against the roof of his mouth in an attempt to keep himself awake - he didn't exactly want to slice off his fingers. Besides, he needed to be awake so that he could be prepared for when Dean came back. Because Dean was going to come back. Dean was going to come back, because Cas couldn't see a future without him.

By two in the afternoon, he’d finished the little trinket. A replica of Dean's Impala, complete with the tiny digs in the treads of the tires. Had he been in a different situation, he would've admired his handiwork – the minute details on the rims was nothing short of fantastic - but he wasn't in a different situation. His situation was one that didn’t have time for pride or self-admiration. He’d been selfish enough already.

So all he did was slide it onto Dean's bracelet, face solemn, eyes tired and helpless.

Sinking, he decided. That's what it felt like. He was on a ship with a hole in the hull, and there wasn't any chance of surviving.

_Knock_.

Cas jerked his head up, eyes wide. Unbelieving.

_Knock_.

He leapt to his feet so fast that he went dizzy. 

Two clicks and a pull later, he was standing face to face with the man who'd kept him up all night.

Honest to God, the rush of relief that Cas felt fill his lungs was too much. The speed at which he launched himself at the other man made them tumble backwards, but Cas didn't care. He slung his arms his arms around Dean's neck regardless. Dean was _here_ , he wasn't somewhere _else,_ and that was all Cas cared about right now.

"You idiot," he babbled into Dean's neck - _motor oil and leather_ , "You goddamn _idiot_. I love you - love you so much you fucking great big _idiot_."

A sob escaped Cas' throat when Dean hugged back.

"Charlie told me. Helped me get my ass in gear," his voice was muffled and strained in Cas' ear, "I'm so fucking sorry Cas. I didn't think you'd want to see me again. Not after -"

Cas shook his head in the hollow of Dean's throat. He was wrong. So wrong. They'd both acted like dicks, and their dickishness had cancelled the other's out. As far as Cas was concerned, Dean coming back to where he belonged meant more than any apology ever possibly could. 

"Dean," Cas relished the taste of Dean's name on his tongue as he pulled away. He didn't think twice about framing the other man's face, thumbs stroking along those high cheek bones in a (dare he say?) tender fashion. He really did look awful. Those beautiful green eyes were glassy and bloodshot, and his skin was pale, tinged almost grey. To think Cas had done _that_... Made Dean looked like a hollow mess. Cas'd never be able to forgive himself. He had to try and make it up somehow. He’d spend the rest of his whole damn _life_ making it up, if he had to.

Gingerly, he leant in close, scared of moving too quickly. Scaring Dean off.

"Shut up." He said eloquently, before pulling Dean forwards and capturing his lips.

Fireworks. That was the only way Cas could explain it.

It was like his head had been a dark, motionless void. Even with all those nameless men, all of those nights fucking, _nothing_ had ever felt like _this_.

The touch of Dean's skin sent sparks of colour racing across that void, lighting him up on the inside. Blues and reds and greens and yellows - every slide of their mouths created a new colour, breathing life into him. Making him dizzy. 

If there was a Heaven, this was it.

Dean stumbled a little (and that was the singularly most adorable thing Cas had ever witnessed) before he could catch up with what was happening. Calloused hands gripped Cas' waist, not too tight, coaxing him gently forwards. They were pressed tightly together, hip to hip, bodies fitting together like they’d always meant to. Like coming home. There was something sharp digging into Cas' hip, and when he realised what it was, he pulled away.

"Wait," he breathed. His eyes popped when Dean tugged him forwards and virtually crushed him between his bulky arms. Cas coughed.

"Dean -" he gasped, feeling his lungs start to collapse, " - Dean I can't _breathe_ -"

The vice loosened. "'M sorry." Dean mumbled into his ear. Cas held back a laugh. Trust Dean to get all needy in the space of ten seconds. 

Cas grinned at the man in front of him, fondness pouring out of his ears, "You left something behind when you disappeared."

He reached into his jean pocket, sliding the bracelet out and dangling it before Dean's nose. The other man took it, looking slightly awe-struck.

"Thanks," he breathed. Cas looped his fingers around Dean's wrist, pulling his hand back up between their chests.

"Take a look," he said, pulling the bracelet to its full length. He watched Dean's eyes run across it, landing on the new addition, his mouth falling agape.

"I started it last week," he lied - because he was _not_ admitting that he'd etched the whole thing out in less than ten hours, "But I didn't have the proper... stimulation to finish it until yesterday. If you don't like it I can make a different one, if you want -"

"Don't be stupid," Dean said, making Cas all kinds of happy when he slipped the bracelet around his wrist and clipped it in place. "It's perfect. I love it."

It felt like electricity sparked across Cas' skin when Dean ran his hand through the shorter man's hair, pulling him close and pressing his lips to Cas' forehead.

"Never let me be a moron again, Cas," he gruffed, face buried in Cas' hair, "Just punch me before I do something stupid."

Cas chuckled, nodding, "If Dean Winchester strays into doofus-land, I'll punch him. Duly noted."

Dean's laugh sounded like the notes to a long-forgotten song.

Cas hadn’t ever heard anything so good.

 

\---

 

The next night, Cas fell asleep with his head in Dean's lap. The taller man's thumb rubbed cricles into his hip all the while.

Cas couldn't have been happier.

**Author's Note:**

> Full prompt: Dean and Cas are roommates. Cas has a lot of sex, forever bringing back big burly guys. Dean feels uneasy about it but can't place why: sure, he's straight, he's not homophobic... he begins to realise his own feelings for Cas and he's scared. Cas is oblivious, talks to Dean about his latest conquest happily etc (bottom!Cas only please). Cas is really confident in himself, Dean isn't. Anyway - Dean keeps seeing/hearing Cas with his many men, and they joke as friends and roommates about it sometimes because Cas can have a laugh at himself but it's bothering Dean more and more. He's the one who sits with Cas's head in his lap as they watch TV, he cooks Cas dinner, and it hurts more and more as he falls for Cas knowing Cas is with other guys.
> 
> I want there to be a huge argument - Dean can hear Cas having sex so he loses it and knocks furiously on his door, demanding Cas come out. Turns out Cas is having some sexy alone time, he's just super loud. They fight verbally, both pissed off now, until Cas says something along the lines "don't blame me for the fact you can't get any, and I can pull whenever I want". Something like that. Then Dean delivers a killer blow, saying something really hurtful, I'm thinking "it's not as if any one sticks around afterwards for you Cas, no one likes a whore. " something slut-shaming and cruel, and to Dean's horror Cas starts to cry. Then a bit of h/c, because Dean is disgusted with himself, he loves Cas so much and he can't believe what he just said to Cas.


End file.
